Famous Last Words
by CaptainHooksGirl
Summary: Marius and Cosette have been looking everywhere for Valjean. After weeks of searching with no luck, they finally decide to enlist professional help, but finding someone on the police force they can trust is tricky. If there's one man who can track down Valjean, it's Javert. And time is running out. *Based on the anime Shoujo Cosette*


**Author's Note: This story is based mainly off of the "Shoujo Cosette" animated series rather than the traditional book or play/movie, so it may be a bit different from what you're used to and may not make sense if you're not familiar with the anime. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend checking it out, but only if you're open to the idea of alternate endings for *ahem* certain characters. *wink wink* If that wasn't a hint MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD! This takes place after Javert's epiphany on the bridge and is supposed to be a sort of "deleted scene" between his encounter with Thénadier at Marius' place and the ending when he shows up at Valjean's grave. Enjoy, and please leave a comment if you like it! :)**

**~CaptainHooksGirl~**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Les Mis or Shoujo Cosette.**

**Famous Last Words**

A lone carriage rattles down a deserted country road. In the valley below nestled between two gently sloping hills, a small village sleeps. Smoke curls from the chimneys of cottages, the winking of the firelight in the windows giving off a warm and welcoming glow. As the hansom comes to a halt, the traveler pays the fee, the clink of coins and whispered words of instruction stemming any further questions concerning his destination. A tall figure dressed in black steps out, a sharp-featured silhouette against the star-splashed sky. He nods once to the cab, then slips silently into the night.

xxxx

It's late by the time the traveler arrives. Most of the lights have been snuffed out. The fires have all been burned to ash, the laughter 'round the hearths gone silent. The streets are dark and quiet except for the stranger's footsteps. Rounding a bend, he comes to the house for which he had been searching—the one house in which the fire still glows. Through the window he catches a glimpse of the occupant inside. He is an elderly gentleman with broad shoulders, kind eyes, a thick mustache, and a shock of silver hair. It is a face that he has seen a thousand times, but it looks tired now, older, as if the stress of losing his only child has aged him overnight. He takes a seat in the armchair by the fire so that his back is to the door. It is the chance the stranger has been waiting for, and he enters unannounced with the stealth of a thief.

"Jean Valjean," he whispers.

Instinctively, the man stiffens. There is only one person alive who would address him by that name.

Javert steps out of the shadows. "Did you think I wouldn't find you all the way out here? I know you well enough to anticipate your movements by now, you know. This time, in particular, they were rather predictable." He pauses to inspect a smudge on one of the white gloves, a smug smile on his face. "Quite frankly, I'm a bit insulted. I would appreciate it if you gave me at least _some_ credit."

Valjean's eyes have gone wide. He starts to get up. "Please, Javert, I am ill. I—"

But Javert will have none of his excuses.

"Enough."

The inspector raises a hand for silence before he can continue, and reluctantly, Valjean complies. He slumps back into the chair, defeated.

Javert looks mildly amused. "Calm yourself, Valjean. I have not come to arrest you."

"No?"

The man looks perplexed, but Javert can see him visibly relax.

"Then why—?"

Javert strides across the room to a window on the other side, hands clasped behind his back as he stares out at the stars. "The Baron Pontmercy requested that I track you down to see how you were faring," he pauses to glance sharply over his shoulder, "—for the sake of his wife's peace of mind as well as his own."

Valjean drops his gaze ashamedly. "It's fatal."

Javert looks mildly surprised, his ramrod-straight posture suddenly even more erect than usual. He blinks. "What?"

"The disease I have—it's fatal," he replies without looking up. "Though I suppose that's good news for you. Soon I'll be gone, and you won't have to worry about the police force discovering me."

"The Paris Prefect believes you died at the barricade." He removes his hat to give his hands something to do. "You are no longer a concern to them."

He still has his back to Valjean, but he can hear the shock in his voice.

"You told them that? Why?"

He turns. "Because the man I see before me is not the prisoner I once knew. That man died long ago, just as the man you once knew as Javert died on the bridge that night."

"Bridge?"

Javert looks away, realizing that perhaps he has said too much.

Valjean furrows his brow, a look of confusion suddenly replaced by one of horror as understanding dawns on him. "You contemplated ending your life…that I might go free?"

The inspector scowls. "I didn't say that I was proud of it." He sighs. "I wanted to believe that people are incapable of change because then…then it wouldn't have been their fault. And it was much easier for me to accept the idea that my parents _couldn't_ rise above their past experiences, _couldn't_ love me…than to think that they simply chose to do otherwise."

Javer closes his eyes. There is a brief flicker of pain across his features, but it passes nearly as quickly as it had come, and by the time Valjean looks up again, he has resumed a stoic expression.

"I am sorry, Javert."

And Javert knows that he means it—really, sincerely means it. There is no trace of mockery in his gaze, and the fact that this man, who should hate him more than any other, is the first to show such compassion only serves to further his respect for Jean Valjean. It is one thing to spare an enemy's life. To be genuinely concerned for him is quite another. But Javert is unaccustomed to such sympathy, and rather than acknowledge the rising lump of emotion in his throat, he merely nods stiffly in gratitude.

Valjean reciprocates the gesture with a nod of his own but suddenly stops short, drawing a sharp intake of breath.

"Are you in much pain?"

Valjean grimaces but shrugs it off. "No worse than what I have endured before."

He doesn't say "at your hand," but Javert hears it anyway. The words carry no malice, but the brutal honesty of it all makes him want to cringe.

"No," he mutters to himself. "I suppose not."

"It will pass."

He attempts a change in the subject. "Your daughter is very worried about you. They've been searching for you for weeks."

Valjean looks suddenly startled. "You won't tell them where I am, will you?"

Javert pauses, then frowns. "No. It is no business of mine if you choose to shun your family, so I will not." He looks pointedly at Valjean, a twinge of some undecipherable emotion in his eyes that makes his tone sound vaguely like an order. "But _you_ should."

Valjean breathes a sigh of relief. "I appreciate your cooperation."

"If you wish not to be found, then you will not be found. You don't need my assistance for that." Javert straightens. "But there is something that I don't understand. Fantine's child—you care deeply for the girl. If she is in such distress over your absence, why hide from her? Surely if she knew your present condition she would prefer to be here by your side. Would you deny her that?"

"It would only worry her…."

"It would worry her less to at least know that you are presently alive."

Valjean hesitates. "It is not only my condition which concerns me, Javert. It is my past."

Javert is taken aback. "You mean she doesn't know? You never told her?"

"No."

"How did you ever manage to explain all of the sudden moves, going out only at night…not to mention your rather obvious avoidance of anyone associated with the law?"

"Cosette is a clever girl. I'm sure she suspected something, but she has never asked. I agreed to let her leave the past behind, and she afforded me the same. But it has caught up with me now, I am afraid. She has a husband now…a life of her own. She deserves a life free of the burden of my sin…and trying to live a normal life with Marius' family would only inevitably force me to fabricate more lies. I can't do that to her anymore."

"I see."

For a moment, there is silence. Valjean is the first to break it.

"How are they?" he asks. "Is she…is she happy?"

The look in his eyes is so hopeful, so fragile, that it appears as though he might break. It is strange, Javert muses, to see a man as physically strong as Valjean in a moment of weakness. He sees now more than ever that Valjean went far above and beyond his self-appointed duty of keeping his promise to Fantine. Cosette is the only family that he has ever known, and her happiness is all he's ever wanted...even if that happiness is found in someone else's arms. She is not a burden to Valjean; she is his very life. And Javert can't help but wonder if the illness that will claim him is not a physical malady at all but the irreparable damage of a broken heart. He chooses his words carefully.

"They are well enough. I paid them a rather unexpected visit recently. It seems Monsieur Thénadier had the illogical notion that he could somehow convince Marius to pay him for information concerning your history. When that failed, he made an attempt on the Baron Pontmercy's life."

Valjean pales at the mention of the name Thénadier, and Javert knows he is blaming himself for not being present to prevent such a confrontation, his thoughts nearly audible from the expression on his face.

And though perhaps it is none of his business, the inspector is inclined to agree with him. Marius may be a brave young man, but he is just a boy, and he can't protect her from everything. Of course, neither can Valjean—a difficult lesson for any father to learn—but she still needs him. Javert knows what it's like to be abandoned by one's family, and this girl whose birth-father was out of the picture before she was born and whose mother died too young does not deserve to be left behind again. She has led a hard life—in part, he now admits, because of his relentless pursuit of the law—and he feels a certain degree of responsibility, the need to atone. He cannot bring back Fantine, but perhaps he can spare her child any further heartache. After a moment, he continues.

"Luckily, I'd been aware of his plan for some time. The attempt failed, and Thénadier has since been returned to prison."

Valjean lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. "I am forever in your debt. How can I possibly repay you?"

Javert waves a hand dismissively. "I have only done my duty. You need not feel obligated to repay me for that."

"Perhaps it was your duty to prevent a crime, but it was not your duty to take a specific interest in seeing to the needs of my family. That duty was _mine_, and I was not there to fulfill it…."

"Then fulfill it now. Send for them, and tell them your secrets. Tell them everything. She may be angry with you or she may not…but that is beside the point. Your family needs you, Valjean. _That_ is your duty right now. That is how you may repay me."

"And then?" he asks. "Who will be there for her when I am gone?"

Javert knows the favor that Valjean is asking is not something to be taken lightly, but he also knows that the man would only ask it of someone he knew was capable of fulfilling the role, someone he trusts. It is a heavy burden to bear, but coming from Valjean, it is also an honor. And it is his duty to his conscience, if not to the law.

"I will see to it that they are safe."

The clock on the mantle suddenly begins to chime. It's after midnight, and they have been talking for hours like old friends. And perhaps that is what they are, Javert thinks—though he cannot be sure. He has never taken the time before to attach himself to anyone or anything, and it troubles him that their newly forged alliance will come to an end before it even has the chance to start. They are more alike, he realizes, than perhaps either one of them is willing to admit, and had they met under different circumstances he has little doubt that they would have been the best of friends.

"The hour is late," he observes. "I suppose I should be going."

He replaces the hat upon his head and turns to leave, but a voice calls him back as he reaches the door.

"Javert?"

He glances back over his shoulder.

Valjean knows that these will likely be the last words that they will ever exchange in this life, and he wants to be certain that they count.

"Thank you."

Javert offers him a slight smile. It is a tight, uncertain smile tinged with sadness, but it is a smile nonetheless. It's the first time Valjean has ever seen the man look somewhat remotely happy, and the change is remarkable. He looks years younger, the angular, aged features softened by an inner peace, an inner glow.

"No, Valjean." He tips his hat in what he now recognizes as mutual respect. "Thank _you_. Take care."

xxxx

Less than a month later, Javert is unsurprised to read of Fauchelevent's passing in the morning paper. He keeps his promise to watch over Cosette but pays his respects at a suitable distance that she and Marius might have time to grieve alone.

_Farewell, Valjean,_ he thinks to himself. _No doubt our paths will cross again._


End file.
